


The Swan

by rat_in_the_pool



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - No Curse, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, F/M, Friends to Lovers, Knight Emma Swan, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-08-10
Updated: 2017-12-09
Packaged: 2018-12-13 13:22:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 15,032
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11760783
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rat_in_the_pool/pseuds/rat_in_the_pool
Summary: Revenge-minded, scourge of the seas Captain Hook has one comically disastrous, drunken encounter with golden knight of the realm Emma, and, whether he’d like to admit it or not, it ends up changing his life. A few years later, the knight tracks him down to enlist his help on a quest that will lead him straight toward his vengeance. But Killian turns out to be much more than Emma first assumed, and Emma proves to be just as dangerous to Killian’s heart as he suspected...





	1. Prologue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter features a pre-"good kind of pirate" Killian. He might display some troubling attitudes/tendencies, just to warn you.

“Maybe it's best we find another place, Captain…”

“And why is that Smee?”

“The Swan’s in that tavern.”

Killian Jones observed his crewman. Smee was a twitchy sort, but he looked downright sick with nervousness now.

“The what?”

Smee gave him an incredulous look. “The Swan?  _ The _ Swan? The king’s finest knight and heir to the throne? Trained by giants in battle? A child of true love born with the most powerful magic in the kingdom?”

Killian cocked an eyebrow. “How excessive. And how exactly does one receive training from a giant? It's not as if you can spar with them.”

“I don't think this is someone we want to run into, captain”

“You’re welcome to try your luck at finding another watering hole in this pathetic little hamlet,” Killian growled. “I’m planning on buying a bloody drink not starting a riot. We’ve had an increasingly frustrating week, and I’m not about to let some king’s spawn get between me and the rum I so deserve.”

"Captain - " Smee started, but Killian ignored him, pushing past the little man into the tavern.

The ugly mug tending bar slapped a bottle and a glass down in front of him. Killian poured himself a few fingers of rum and eyed the rabble, curious. Smee had built the knight up too well. Killian wanted to judge the paragon for himself. A few men in rusty chainmail and leather plating dotted the crowd, but they were probably just smart travellers. However, there was a silver glint of well-polished armor in one corner. Killian could make out  a few men -- in very fine mail, indeed -- hunched over a table with a figure, whose armor, if Killian wasn't mistaken, sported a gilded pattern. Probably to match the sod's hair, tumbling in golden waves over his back, which was turned toward Killian. No doubt he was a pretty sod as well.

But Smee was right. It was hardly smart to court a prince's attention when you're a lawbreaker in his right mind. So Killian made sure he had made a solid run toward emptying his bottle of rum before he made his approach.

Their week had been long, the Dark One still evaded him. And he wasn't in the mood to soothe his frustration with a lover. He was in the mood for a fight. Why not a fight with the heir to a kingdom, the most feared knight in the realm?

"Well then, Sir Swan," he called over the din, sauntering over to a trio of knights. "Let's get a look at you." He rounded the table to find a pair of surprised green eyes staring back at him. Lined with rather long lashes. Killian was hardly one to deny that a man could have fine features, but he was still confident the knight he was looking at was a woman.

Her expression faded from surprise to irreverence as she took him in. "And?" she said, "You got your look."

"Aye," Killian said, shifting gears rather handily, for how many drinks he'd had. "So that's what the product of true love looks like."

The Swan’s eyebrows climbed up her forehead.

Killian glanced at her companions, who didn’t have to glare daggers at him since they were palming the real blades at their sides. Unperturbed, he swung a leg over the bench and wedged his way between two of them, concentrating to make sure his movements were smooth.

“Make yourself at home,” the Swan said flatly.

“Why, thank you. You royals  _ are _ hospitable,” Killian drawled.

“Can I help you…?”

“Captain,” Killian corrected. “Hook,” he added, raising the instrument in question. “Or Jones. Whichever you prefer, love.”

The knight to his left bristled, armor clunking. “You will address the princess as --”

“Leroy, could you get me another,” the Swan said, lifting her empty tankard without drawing her eyes away from Killian.

Killian smiled sunnily in response to Leroy’s parting glare.

Once her rather short protector had disappeared into the crowd she said, “To what do I owe the pleasure, Captain?”

He grinned. “The pleasure is freely given, darling.”

She finally broke her steady gaze to roll her eyes.

“I couldn’t pass up the opportunity to share a drink with a princess, could I?”

“Didn’t you call me ‘sir’ a second ago?”

“Aye. You’re a knight too, aren’t you? Do you go by ‘lady,’ then?”

The corner of her mouth twitched and Killian felt a giddy thrill slice through his drunken haze.

“People tend to go with ‘your highness,’” she said.

“And you like it that way?” he asked.

“If I want them to call me something else, I let them know.” Her expression was rather pointed.

“Hmm, used to getting your own way, are you?”

She mirrored his arched eyebrow. “I’m used to respect.”

Her sharpness went further toward sobering Killian, unfortunately. But then something in her seemed to loosen. “I’m sure you know being in a leadership position hardly means always getting what you want, Captain.” She smiled then, and it was lovely, if rueful.

Killian blinked. “No,” he said, agreeing with her. He certainly hadn’t been getting what he wanted, lately. Though she was obviously referring to the sacrifice of putting her subjects’ interests before her own. He tried to remember the last time he’d been so concerned with those under his own command. It must have been before his return from Neverland, though he couldn’t say whether he had been more worried about his crew’s safety than getting them all home then. One worry rather fueled the other. Come to think of it, he hadn't really felt such...care for his crew since his time in the navy. Since his brother’s death. And after that, what did it matter who he was sailing with? What companion could make up for the loss of his only family?

“Oh, lass,” he groaned. “I’m hardly sober enough for such soul searching.”

She laughed, and Killian enjoyed it. She really was very attractive.

“Sorry,” she said. “It’s just, I prefer to do my soul searching as drunk as possible.”

“Aye, I can see the benefits. Perhaps I’m just not in the mood for soul searching tonight.”

She sighed. “And what are you in the mood for?”

It may have been the rum. It may have been that she was more interesting than what he had expected, whether knight or princess, and he wanted to return the favor.

Whatever it was, Killian found himself telling her the truth. “What I’m looking for, love, is a good brawl.”

It may have been the rum.

She laughed again, this time in pure disbelief. Killian heard the rattle of chainmail as the knight to his right shifted. Killian ignored him.

“I’m sorry, you walk into this pub, see me, and your first thought is ‘I want to fight her’?” she asked, when Killian did nothing to clarify his statement.

“I can’t be the first to ever have had such a thought,” Killian said, feeling his face heat. Good lord, was he blushing? At challenging a woman?

“Maybe not,” she said, eyes still wide with shock and mirth. “But you might be the first one to tell me.”

“Well, that’s a show of respect, isn’t it? I only want the truth between us, Sir Swan.”

“Oh, do you?” she murmured, chuckling, shaking her head, and the movement pulled him along toward her, grinning, saying “Aye,” just as softly in response.

“Your Highness.”

The laughing stopped. Killian glared openly at the knight next to him for ruining that delightful little instance of magic. It was the fidgety, mail-clad fellow. He was a ginger, who wore spectacles, no less. What sort of knight wore spectacles? He and the Swan seemed to share a conversation in addition to a look.

When the princess turned her gaze back on him, she was almost apologetic. Softly, but firmly, she said, “Maybe you should just stick to the rum tonight, Captain. Whatever you’re trying to distract yourself from, I’m not the one to do it with.”

Killian’s disappointment was surprisingly sharp. “The Swan turning down a challenge?” he accused. Probably too bitterly.

Her eyes hardened and her voice dropped. “Or maybe just lay off the rum and go home, Captain. You may think you want a fight, but you don’t want one with me. Trust me.”

Her grumpy little companion returned with her drink then. He took his time placing the tankard down between them so he could give Killian a menacing look.

Killian shot up, snagged his hook around the diminutive knight’s arm, and pinned it to the table. The Swan and the other knights rose immediately, drawing their weapons, but Killian had already ripped the metal glove off of Leroy’s hand. He slapped it down in front of the princess with a satisfying clang.

The pub had gone silent.

“Is it ceremony you want, Swan?” He managed to growl despite the woozy rush he was feeling from his quick movement. Hook and hand on the table, he loomed over her, heedless of her blade pointed at him. “There you are. I challenge you  _ formally _ ,” he sneered around the last word.

Her lovely green eyes travelled up from the gauntlet to his own gaze. She was utterly withering.

Killian watched, fascinated, as she glanced at the crowd around them, weighing the situation, no doubt. A daughter of a king at work. Finally, he saw her breast-plate shift as she heaved a deep and silent sigh.

“Take him out,” she said, curtly.

The third of her posse stepped forward. He wrapped a massive dark hand around Killian’s brace and yanked his hook from the table. A scuffle later, Killian found himself outside the tavern and on the ground, blinded by the silver of the princess’s armored feet.

“Keep them inside,” he heard her say as he struggled back up. She was handing her cloak off to the disapproving ginger knight. Behind them, the other two kept the crowd from leaking out of the tavern. The princess murmured some order or another to Sir Ginger and, after fixing her with another inscrutable look, he left them.

Finally, she turned back to Killian.

He grinned. “Alone at last.”

Green eyes flashing, moonlight glinting off her armor and the steel in her hand, she advanced.

“Draw,” she said.

Killian grabbed for his sword, a sense of unease growing in his stomach.

This was never a sound idea, but watching the Swan twirl her sword absently as she assessed him, the full impact of the situation finally seemed to land on Killian. No matter how sobering her company, he was still well-soused, and she was still the most feared knight in the bloody kingdom.

She started to circle him, and he circled her in turn, trying to keep his feet light as well as steady.

Suddenly, she lunged at him with a few blows that he managed to parry well enough.

She fell back, the movement almost lazy, it was so serene. Irked, he sneered, “Don’t tell me the great Swan is soft in battle. This isn’t a dance, it’s a duel.”

This prompted a flurry of blows that had Killian reeling back cartoonishly. She allowed him a moment to right himself. She didn’t laugh but there was a definite twitch around the corners of her mouth.

Killian scowled, irritated with her amusement. Irritated for finding her endearing. That was the wrong scene, the wrong sort of encounter. She kept distracting him from his mood.

Gods. He was  _ frustrated _ , dammit. Thwarted. Enraged.

He felt the anger tighten his focus and when he moved, his attack was fluid. He saw the shift in her eyes, felt the difference in her grip on the steel under his.

Their little skirmish was growing heated, his heart pounding in his skull from the exertion, pounding in time to the clang of their weapons. He ignored it. Focused on her. Her cool expression and the calculation in her eyes, somehow firey.

It was a split second of lag, a movement too slow. Her attack came swift and merciless. He moved to parry but it was too weak, too late. The blow was so strong it laid him out flat, head snapping against the earth, vision swimming.

He fought through it, blinking furiously. In a sluggish scramble he turned to his side and realized she was walking away. Finished.

“Wait,” he rasped. “... _ I said wait, damn you! _ ”

She stopped.

He managed to get one boot flat on the ground. He stabbed his cutlass into the dirt and dragged the rest of himself upright by leaning on the hilt. “I haven’t conceded defeat.”

“Jones…”

My, but his name sounded sweet in her voice.

She started toward him and he tugged the cutlass from the ground to point it at her. Her lips thinned as she raised her own weapon, obligingly. But she didn’t move.

He lunged and she blocked, as easily as if she were swatting a fly. He stumbled, but by some miracle managed not to fall again. He felt dizzy as he straightened himself and his weapon. She was watching him with something too close to concern.

“I didn’t challenge you because I wanted your pity, love,” he bit out, as he lunged again.

Her expression evaporated as she parried. “I don’t pity you, Captain. You’re just pitiful.”

He barked out a laugh, mildly hysterical.

Her attack was swift. The clang of steel rang out as she twisted his cutlass back with the weight of her broadsword. His grip fumbled and the cutlass went flying. Killian lurched after it on instinct but was stopped by the hilt of her sword, planted in his stomach with a dull thud.

He choked out an ugly gagging noise as he crumpled. He clutched his stomach and rolled onto his back, drawing in deep rasping breaths.

When his vision came back into focus, it was to find both swords in the Swan’s hands. She couldn’t even be bothered to point them at him, it seemed.

“Drinking it away wasn’t enough, was it?” she asked.

Killian wanted to laugh, but it turned into a cough.

“Forgetting something doesn’t make it go away,” she said.

“I bloody know,” Killian answered, weakly.

“Have you tried running?”

He squinted up at her, perplexed.

The rueful smile was back. “I always thought running seemed like a good way to get rid of your problems. I just never had the luxury.”

Killian gazed at her. “And where would you propose I run to, love?”

For a long moment, she stared at him, measuring him.

“You could come with us.”

Killian considered the likelihood that he was hallucinating.

She continued, her stare and her voice steady and soft. “You’d lose your title, but if you prove yourself you might get another one eventually.”

“You think I’ve the makings of a knight?”

She shrugged. The smile was back. “Maybe you just remind me of me.”

Of her? This shining paragon of nobility saw something of herself in him?

She sighed and tossed the cutlass down beside him. He eyed it.

“I concede defeat,” he said.

She laughed.

“And I think I’ll just lie here for a bit, as well,” he muttered.

She nodded. “Good plan.”

He felt his face heat again. Gods, but this had not been his finest hour.

“You don’t have to wait for me,” he said.

“I bloody know,” she answered, matter-of-fact.

And after a few more moments, he held out his hand and she hauled him to his feet, stepping under his arm to steady him when he swayed. Her hair brushed his face. It smelled of salt, probably from the coastal breeze. He wished he were in a state to appreciate it more.

She stepped away but her hand stayed at his side, gauntlet resting above his belt.

“Can I give you some advice?”

Her eyes were boring into his again.

Killian grunted his acquiescence.

“You seem like you could use...some...support...council...”

“Out with it, love.”

She sighed and gazed up at the sky. “A friend, Jones.”

“...a friend?”

She met his eyes. “What do you think of my men?”

“Uh,” Killian was at a loss.

“Lance is terrifying, but Archie and Leroy always get weird looks. But they’re my knights because they’re what I need. They’re friends to me.”

“Friends.” Killian would have laughed, but he was too struck. Too hypnotized by the gravity in her eyes. Later he might say that it had been delirium that made her words seem all-important.

“I really think what you need is a friend, Captain.”

Killian didn’t answer, and after a short silence, she picked up his sword from where she’d tossed it, placed it in his hand, and sidled away.

Killian saw that her companions had all been joined by horses during the course of their duel. Sir Ginger handed the reigns of a white steed to the Swan. Killian watched as the four knights mounted, and rode away.

…

Just his fucking luck, there seemed to be some sort of commotion going on when he arrived back at the Roger.

It was the girl. Somehow she’d made it out of the brig where Killian had ordered her, tired of listening to her swearing up and down that she had led them to the right place. He could hear her accent amid the shouts coming from the small crowd on deck.

The girl looked as haggard as if she’d spent a few days in the brig rather than a few hours, and it made Killian wince with a stab of guilt. Her blue eyes were wild, dark curls in disarray. She was brandishing a dagger that he guessed she must have lifted from one of the crew. She swung the blade around when a man came too close, and he jumped back. Smee was trying to approach her, licking his lips nervously, hands out as if she were a wild horse.

Killian stepped aboard.

The wood groaned under his boots, and the girl whipped around at the noise. Smee moved quickly, snaking his arms around her from behind and seizing her by the wrists. 

It might have been another stab of guilt that had Killian speeding up.

But before he could reach them the girl broke away, though Smee had managed to wrestle away the dagger. The girl made a mad dash straight toward Killian, toward the boarding ramp, when one of his men stepped out of the gawking crowd.

It was Carstairs. One of the rabble he’d picked up just before Neverland. The brute’s more aggressive tendencies had come in handy on the island, but had grown increasingly tiresome after their return to this realm.

It was with an unholy glee that Carstairs stopped the girl’s flight by backhanding her hard across the face.

Killian drew in a sharp breath as she pitched to the floor, blue skirts flying up haphazardly, head making a sickening thunk against the boards.

And Killian was swamped with a sense of horror.

Not at the violence of the action, but at how easily he could picture himself doing the same thing. Just this evening, he’d been furious. He’d spent the voyage back from the Dark One’s empty castle building his frustration, nursing it into a seething rage. He’d laid into the girl for what he saw as her failure, and she’d shouted back, defending herself, unintentionally encouraging his tirade. Had they not spent the weeks beforehand together, had he not come to know her a little -- come to like her, truth be told -- would he have struck her then? Would he have let his hand fly, without a second thought, instead of just locking her away, sick of her righteous presence?

Now, battered and aching, the fight thoroughly trounced from him, the memory of his anger felt hollow. After 200 years, this thwarted vengeance was becoming tired. He was bloody tired.

Looking down at this girl, he missed Milah.

It was almost a shock. When was the last time he’d felt anything other than fury at the thought of her?

Gods, but he missed her. Missed his brother. Missed being a bloody Lieutenant, when he’d actually cared about his actions and his men in the same way the Swan seemed to care about hers. And it was all of this exhausted aching that had him forming a decision.

This was a good woman. Better than him, better than his men, certainly. No doubt she was of the mind who felt that no one deserved this sort of treatment, but the truth was she was especially undeserving of it. He should bundle her up and send her off in the direction of the princess.

But he decided to indulge his selfishness one more time. She was good. And she was clever, and he’d found himself enjoying her company on their voyage.

So he halted Carstairs’s movements. The man was crouching over the disoriented girl, no doubt to haul her back up for more of his twisted enjoyment. Killian stopped him with a hand on his shoulder and, when Carstairs straightened, smashed his hook into the man’s face. Large as he was, Carstairs didn’t fall immediately, but swayed from the blow. Killian seized the opportunity to barrel into him, using his own weight to drive the man toward the starboard side of the ship and sent him clean over the railing.

There was a yawning silence before the faint splash of Carstairs hitting the water.

Killian turned to find his crew gaping at him. The girl, crumpled as she was from her place on the deck, managed to look just as shocked. Killian approached her carefully, offering his hand. She ignored it and straightened unsteadily to her feet on her own. Her eyes were steely when they met his.

“I want to go home,” she said.

“I’ve a proposition for you, actually,” Killian said.

“Your last proposition ended with me as your prisoner, so, no, thank you,” she said. She would have come off haughty if her eyes weren’t rimmed red.

Spurred by the threat of tears, Killian soldiered on. “In case you hadn’t noticed, a position’s just opened up on my crew.”

There was a stirring among the men. Killian paid them no mind. For the moment, he focused on selling this plan to her, hang what the rest of the crew thought.

“From what you’ve told me, lass, it doesn’t sound as if you’ve a place to go, what with your father throwing you out after your time with the Dark One.”

She bristled. “That doesn’t mean --”

“I’d like to offer you a position as my navigator.”

The chatter from his men grew louder. The girl, meanwhile, was looking at him as if he’d grown a second head.

“You may not consider me the most honorable man,” Killian continued, “but I do honor my agreements.”

“You promised to let me go free if I led you to Rumple.”

“And you didn’t lead me to him.”

“But that was where --”

“Regardless,” Killian snapped, rubbing his temple. “You did do an excellent job of getting us to our destination quickly. You’re good with maps and books and the stars, and with a bit of coaching, you might even make a decent pilot.”

She blinked at Killian’s dry praise. “And where would we go?” she asked.

Killian grinned at that. “Well, you’d be a pirate, love,” he said. “We go wherever we want.”

Ah, yes, that seemed to reach her. Killian had read her right. The girl had wanderlust.

Still, she was wary, justifiably so. “Where will I sleep?”

There was only one place, but Killian paused nevertheless, anticipating the backlash.

“The same place, the smaller cabin next to my quarters would be yours permanently.”

There was a titter from Smee, to whom the cabin had belonged to originally. And from the back of the crowd, there rose a jealous roar of “ _ Captain. _ ”

“ _ Stephens _ ,” Killian roared back. “ _ Keep questioning your captain’s orders and you’ll be joining Carstairs. _ ”

That was enough to silence any more objections.

“Well, then, lass,” he said, eager to get this over with. “In or out?”

She was silent, thinking, and Killian watched an odd sort of light creep into her eyes. After a moment, he recognized it. The girl was hopeful.

But she still fixed him with a shrewd glare when she asked. “What happens if I’m out?”

Killian considered the question. Considered what she was really asking. It was rather frightening. Frightening to realize what he was really asking of her. Frightening to show his hand in front of the rest of his crew.

But if nothing else, he refused to let the night be a complete failure.

So he said, “If you’re out, love, you’re free to go. I won’t stop you.”

And she smiled.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And we're off! This is my third attempt at a multi-chap ever. For anything. Cross your fingers I stick with this one. As with everything I write, this is going to be way too long and way too convoluted, so strap the hell in.  
> Sorry if Emma’s speech sounds too modern for your curseless au tastes. I just can’t picture her too flowery no matter what world she’s in.  
> Come debate how “The Jolly Roger” should be shortened with me!! I'm [youre-not-a-cat-youre-a-rat](https://youre-not-a-cat-youre-a-rat.tumblr.com) on tumblah.


	2. Funny How This Whole Game Played

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title from HAIM’s "[Ready for You](https://open.spotify.com/track/1ASQSdVgFVwDMOAXn2Tvvh)," which you can feel free to listen to while you read this.

_ Three years later... _

Emma wore armor during council meetings. The court loved its ceremony. She didn’t mind though, it wasn’t uncomfortable. She’d much rather be wearing it in the warm council chambers, arguing about diplomacy, than on a mud and blood-streaked battlefield.

“If there’s a chance that her offer of an alliance is genuine, we need to consider it.” Her father stood from his place at the table, cloaked and crowned. Depending on how long and how heated the meeting got, he might start shedding layers.

At Emma’s side, Regina - who was often the cause of those long and turbulent sessions - scoffed.

“Zelena is my sister. And you think she can be genuine?”

Emma’s mother gave the sorceress a pointed look. “Well considering you’ve become a friend and member of this council, yes.”

Regina looked as if she’d swallowed a bug with that statement. Emma wrestled down a laugh. Regina didn’t like too much attention paid to her softer traits.

“Shouldn’t we talk about the...the offer itself?”

Everyone turned to look at Henry who, as her son, occupied the chair to Emma’s right.

Henry glanced around at them a little nervously. Emma tilted her head when his gaze landed on her, encouraging him. Her boy was young, barely thirteen. He hadn’t been coming to the council meetings long and was still getting used to commanding the room.

“Well,” he continued, “I mean, she sends this man who’s around your” - he gestured toward Emma - “age. She says he’s a high ranking and trusted lord...Says she hopes he can ‘forge a bond’ between our courts?” He gave the rest of the council an expectant look.

“What are you getting at, sonny?” Leroy snapped. Henry flushed and Emma shot the knight a glare.

Henry forged ahead. “I’m just saying...it sounds like she expects this to be a marriage alliance.”

There was an uneasy shift around the table.

Henry was voicing the obvious, really. Walsh had arrived a few days earlier - with no announcement, but “maybe it was too much trouble to send word between realms” Emma’s mother had rationalized - bearing gifts for the whole family. Munchkin-made weaponry for King David and Henry. Clothing for Queen Snow. For Emma? Flowers and jewels. He’d kissed her hand on their introduction with a cheeky little smile. He’d paid just a bit more attention to Emma than everyone else at dinner that night, their conversation edging on playful when no one else was listening. He’d asked her to lead his tour around the castle the next day and listened with what looked like genuine fascination as she told him about their kingdom, their world. Every now and then he’d provide a thoughtful question or a quip that actually made Emma laugh.

It reeked of courtship.

The whole court had been on edge since Regina discovered she had a sister in another realm. A sister in another realm who had a very handy and destructive way to travel to their own realm. Their kingdom had a good relationship with the giants, but getting a magic bean still meant months of debate, contracts, and general diplomatic hell. No matter how many times Emma asked Anton to just do her a favor and smuggle her a bean on the sly, he never did anything but laugh. But apparently, Zelena could just snap her fingers and a whirling vortex of doom would appear to suck her to another world. Regina had delivered this news with extra snide bluster to cover the anxiety in her eyes.

If Zelena’s power was so strong it gave Regina pause, there was definitely cause for alarm.

“Plus,” Henry said, emboldened, “he shows up just when we’re getting ready to throw a wedding.”

Everyone glanced at Philip and Aurora who shared a nervous look themselves.

“It’s possible that Zelena is angling for a marriage alliance, but she couldn’t have known about the wedding,” Snow said.

“Please,” sneered Regina. “Mirror spells can cross realms. If there are mirrors in Oz, you can bet she’s used them to spy on us.”

There was an uneasy murmur around the table. Mirrors had been banned from the council chambers as soon as Regina had become a member.

Leroy growled. “We just wrapped up the War of Broken -”

Snow cut the dwarf off with an “ _ ahem _ ,” and a pointed look. Emma closed her eyes, exasperated with her mother’s lack of subtlety.

“Uh, the um, war with Maleficent,” Leroy amended.

“The peace has held strong for over seven years,” Archie said.

Leroy harrumphed. “Like I said, we just finished with one crazy witch -” (“no offense,” he muttered to Regina, who shrugged) “- now we gotta deal with another one!”

“As I said,” David’s voice rang out over the ensuing chatter. “All the more reason to consider building a friendly relationship.”

“Through marriage?” Henry asked, skeptical.

Everyone turned to look at Emma.

“Marriage isn’t something to be rushed into,” Snow said, sternly.

Emma tried to give her mother a look that said  _ It’s fine _ . “I agree with Dad. We should be open to a genuine offer of friendship.”

Regina grumbled.

“ _ But _ , we should be ready for anything.”

That seemed to placate the sorceress, and the King and Queen nodded their approval.

The meeting didn’t last much longer, and Emma and her parents drew the visiting prince and princess aside as they all trooped out of the council chambers.

They were a picturesque pair: Philip handsome and doting, and Aurora pretty and kind - if a little reserved. But as they followed the king to a secluded alcove in the hallway, they looked weary, anxious.

“We’re not going to let anything interrupt the preparations for your wedding,” Snow said.

Emma smiled to herself. “Romantic” was not a strong enough term to describe her mother. When she was young, off studying magic, Emma remembered reading letters from the queen, mortified at her attempts to subtly gauge if Emma was lovestruck. The annoying part was that Snow had an uncanny ability to guess the object of Emma’s infatuation. More annoying was that Emma’s romances tended to end in disaster, but that was neither here nor there.

“Absolutely,” David said, laying a hand on Aurora’s shoulder. “You’re father entrusted us with you because he knows we can keep you safe. And we will.” He glanced at Emma who nodded on cue, making sure to look tough and capable.

“We know,” Philip said. “And we’re no strangers to the threat of magic.”

Aurora had been a sort of casualty of the war. Maleficent had somehow whisked the princess away to a place even the dragon couldn’t find. There, she cursed her to sleep forever. Or at least until Philip finally tracked Aurora down and woke her with True Love’s Kiss.

The war may have ended with the treaty seven years ago, but Aurora had only been awake for half that time. Peacetime had only served to make her family nervous, apparently.

Now, the princess clutched her prince’s arm and nodded dutifully, smiling. Emma noticed that it was kind of a stiff smile. There was a faint discomfort in Aurora’s eyes.

_ Huh _ . Emma made a note to find the girl later and double down on the security talk.

For now though, it was a rare day where Emma’s only pressing duty had been a council meeting. She was going to dodge the wedding planning by taking her son out to joust.

Sort of. Henry was still a little short to wield her lances, but he practiced with smaller ones of the same weight. He smashed them on wooden targets and Emma handed him new ones. Their usual roles were reversed - Henry was her squire during tournaments - and she faked insult whenever Henry felt it necessary to critique her techniques. When Walsh found them, they were splattered with mud and smelled like horse. Emma was yelling, “Excuse me? I was doing this before you were born, you little runt,” over Henry’s laughter.

Henry sobered when he noticed their visitor, calling, “Hey, Walsh.”

Emma turned to see the subject of this morning’s meeting smiling at their antics, gold cloak flapping cheerfully in the breeze. Walsh was tall, thin, and handsome in an unintimidating way. He had dark eyes and hair - which he kept artfully mussed.

“I was just exploring the grounds,” he said. “I didn’t realize there was a tourney going on.” He made a little bow to Henry. “Congratulations, my lord. Although I have to say, your opponent looked a bit...sickly.”

Henry scoffed. “Don’t compete if you’re not fit for the fight.”

Walsh gave an exaggerated wince. “Ruthless, huh?”

“You can find out for yourself, if you want,” Emma said. “We were about to switch to swords. Henry needs an opponent, if you’d like to volunteer?”

“Uh,” Walsh said, playfulness gone. “I’m not a swordsman.”

She clapped him on the shoulder. “Perfect. You can use the practice, then.”

Bewildered, Walsh allowed himself to be wedged into a breastplate and a helmet. Soon he was awkwardly brandishing a sparring sword as Henry circled him.

Walsh managed to block a few attacks before a particularly aggressive lunge knocked him off his feet, armor clanking as he landed, legs straddled, in the slop.

Henry froze but Emma guffawed, clutching her side as she moved to help Walsh to his feet. “I’m sorry,” she told him, her laughter ruining the effect of the apology.

“It’s fine,” Walsh chuckled. With Emma’s help he pulled off the helm. “No harm done, my lord,” he told Henry as he joined them. “Except maybe to my pride.”

Deciding that they wouldn’t be able to top the spectacle of Walsh lying in the mud, Emma and Henry loaded the armor and lances onto their horses. Henry volunteered to lead them back to the castle and Emma and Walsh trailed after him.

“So is that usually the exercise?” Walsh asked her. “Setting your son on helpless visitors?”

Emma patted his arm in consolation. “I’m sure there’s something you’re good at.”

Walsh glanced down at her hand as it dropped away. There was something very...satisfied about the little smile he gave her when he looked back up.

This flustered Emma, but she kept her expression serene as she said, “Zelena called you a ‘trusted member of the court’ in the message you delivered. That must mean she finds you useful.”

“Actually,” Walsh said.  “I advise her on matters of security.”

“ _ What? _ ”

“I know, I know -”

“And you don’t know how to  _ fight? _ ”

“I’m an  _ advisor _ ,” he justified, rolling his eyes when this only made her laugh harder. “You don’t need to be a warrior to know how to strategize.”

Emma composed herself, digesting this. Then, lightly, she asked, “And she sent you to sniff out weaknesses in our security?”

He dipped his head in concession. An understanding guy. “No. I’m not the only lord at court who advises her on that sort of thing - kind of like your council - so she knew she could spare me.”

For now, Emma decided to ignore that he knew about their council meeting. “That’s it?”

His smile was sheepish “Well, she also considers me a friend. I think she hoped you could come to see me that way too.”

Emma raised an eyebrow, as coy as she got. “Me?”

He smiled, revealing nothing. “Everyone.”

Emma nodded. “So that’s what Zelena hopes. What about you?”

He turned serious.

“I know it’s only been a few days, but...I’d love to have you as a friend, Emma.”

His eyes were large and sincere. Emma studied them, warily.

Walsh blinked. “I mean, Your Grace.” He blushed, charmingly. “I’m sorry, I -”

“It’s fine,” Emma said, giving him a smile.

They parted ways at the stables, Walsh going on to the castle while Emma and Henry unloaded the horses.

They worked silently at first, Emma mulling over the lingering look Walsh had given her as he left.

“Mom,” Henry’s voice came from behind the saddle he had hoisted over his shoulder. “Are you really thinking of marrying him?”

_ Oh boy. _ Emma thought of how best to approach this. She’d never appreciated her parents’ uncomfortable lectures until she had to start giving her own uncomfortable lectures to Henry. But with this particular topic, she was flying blind. It had probably never crossed Snow or David’s mind to give her a talk about arranged marriages. She thought of them after the morning meeting, bickering affectionately about the wedding plans.  _ Gods. _

She helped Henry hoist the saddle back onto its rack and decided to start with some easy truths.

“You know I love you, don’t you, kid?”

“Yeah, Mom, I know,” he said. She felt satisfied that he could roll his eyes about it. That it was such a given.

“And I will never let anything hurt you.”

“Mom.” He gave her a look as he led his horse into a stall.

“Henry.” She followed him in and cupped his face in her hands, turning him to face her. He had to drop his hold on the harness he was trying to unstrap, and he sighed impatiently. His head could just reach her shoulders now.

“An alliance,” she said, “is a partnership. So is marriage.”

“So...you  _ are _ going to marry him?”

“What did I tell the council?”

“You said...we should consider every option.”

She squeezed his shoulders. “ _ That’s _ what I’m going to do.”

“I know, and he’s nice. I like him fine.”

The faint praise made Emma laugh as she turned to finish Henry’s work on the harness. “Good.”

“But do  _ you _ like him?”

Emma thought about it. Thought about how comfortable he seemed with her son. Thought about his easy smile and his quick humor. Thought about the gentle expression she’d started to see on his face when he looked at her.

She sucked in a breath as she turned back to hand Henry the harness. “Sweetheart -”

“Grandma and grandpa say that marriage is for love.”

“And they're right,” Emma said, carefully, as she watched him put away the harness. “But people don't always fall in love as quickly as grandma and grandpa did. Sometimes love grows. Out of living together, working together...Plenty of people don't fall in love until after they're married. And plenty of people who fall in love never get married.”

Henry grabbed a few brushes, handing her one as he mulled this over. “Like...you?” he said finally. “And my dad, I mean?”

Emma’s stomach lurched.

“...Yeah, like me and your dad.”

“And Lily?”

That prompted a bigger lurch.

Henry flushed. “Sorry.”

Emma shook her head. “No, kid, it's ok.” She lifted a hand to smooth down his hair. “I promise you, no matter what, I am not going to marry anyone who isn't right for us.”

He smiled her favorite of his smiles. The one that was full of faith and assurance.

“Anyone who's right for you is right for me,” he said.

That made her grin and she ruffled his hair, much to his annoyance.

“I will say this for Walsh,” Henry said, as they started to brush down the horse. “He makes a decent training dummy.”

Emma laughed.

And that evening, she tracked her mother down in the library with Regina.

“We don’t know anything about this Walsh guy.”

At her entrance, the queen and the sorceress looked up from where they were hunched over piles of ledgers and scrolls, elbow deep in wedding plans. Snow’s eyebrows flew up under her fringe. “Henry was just telling me you liked him.”

Emma closed and locked the door. She waved her hand to slap a quick soundproofing spell on it before striding over to join them at the desk. “Sure, he’s nice.”

“A ringing endorsement,” said Regina.

Snow glared at Regina. “I thought you two were getting along.”

As usual, when it came to discussing feelings with her mother, Emma had to take a minute to bolster herself before laying her cards on the table. “He seems like a smart...kind...interesting person.”

Regina jumped on that description. “And that terrifies you?”

“No.”  _ A little _ . “I think...it could be...good for me. As well as the kingdom.”

“ _ Oh,  _ ok. He’s boring.”

“He’s not boring,” Emma said, exasperated. She glanced at her mother expecting her to start scolding Regina but was surprised to find Snow avoiding her gaze. “Mom. You think he’s boring?”

“No! I just...well, considering your former…beaus -”

“ _ Oh gods, _ ” Emma said. Regina snorted.

“I guess I can see how  _ you _ might find him boring, is what I mean,” Snow said.

Emma grit her teeth. She did not want this to turn into a rehash of her spectacular romantic failures. “Look. I like the guy, alright? But if I’m really going to consider this, I just think it would be smart to do some investigating.”

Regina laughed. “You are  _ so _ running scared.”

Emma and Snow glared.

The sorceress tried her best to compose herself. “But I agree, that is smart.” Then she really sobered. “Of course, that would mean learning more about Zelena and she’s been smart enough to block herself from any sort of scrying spells.”

“That is suspicious,” Snow said.

“It doesn’t help that she’s probably known about us, longer than we’ve known about her.” Emma said. “Longer than we’ve known about  _ Oz _ .”

Snow’s eyes widened. “You think she’s been spying on us.”

“Oh, it’s definitely possible,” Regina said. She turned to Emma. “Any ideas, then?”

Emma took a deep breath, knowing this would be a hard sell. “Maybe if we consult someone who’s been around longer, who might have been aware of Oz before us…”

“Like who?” asked Snow.

“Like…” Emma steeled herself and took the plunge, “one of my old teachers.”

Regina snorted. “It may have been years since our treaty with Maleficent, but I don’t think we’re at a ‘borrow a cup of flour’ stage just yet.”

Emma winced. “Not Maleficent.”

There was a heavy silence.

“The  _ Dark One? _ ” Regina squawked.

Snow was aghast. “Emma...that’s -”

“ _ Insane? _ ”

Emma went on the defense. “He wasn’t that bad.”

Regina let out a disbelieving “Ha!”

“He wasn’t the reason I left, anyway,” Emma said, quietly.

“Speak for yourself,” Regina muttered. “Look, no one’s seen him in years.  _ I _ haven’t seen him since the bastard stole a curse from me.”

Snow gave her a scolding look. “The curse you were planning to use on us?”

Regina waved the accusation away and Emma cut in before they could dust off an old argument. “But you remember where he used to live don't you?”

“‘Used to’ is the crucial part there.”

“Didn't you say he had a servant for a while?”

Regina forgot her sarcasm for a moment, sharp, black brows furrowed. “Yes...pretty young thing...dark hair, accent -”

“He has an accent,” said Snow.

“Hers was different,” Regina said, absently. “I got the feeling he was...fond of her. I thought about snatching her when he took that curse. Ransoming her to get it back.”

“Lovely,” Snow said.

“I said I  _ thought _ about it,” the sorceress snapped, “I didn’t  _ do _ it. It's not like I needed the stupid curse anymore, we were allies by then…”

Snow broke into a fond smile. Regina rolled her eyes.

“You think he could have taken her with him?” Emma wondered. “To wherever he disappeared to?”

“I said he was fond, not that he’d completely lost his head. Even with a student, Rumplestiltskin always struck me as a loner.”

“Mm,” Emma said, not bothering to mention Baelfire. The Dark One’s son would probably agree with Regina’s assessment. “If we found her, you think she might have a guess on where he is?”

Regina sighed. “You’re obviously set on this.”

“We need a plan,” Emma said. “And I think this is our best chance right now.”

Regina nodded. “Then she’s probably your best chance at finding him, yes.”

“Are you going to go yourself?” Snow asked, and Emma smiled. Her mother’s tone wasn’t doubtful or judging. If this was Emma’s plan, she was ready to enact it.

“We don’t even know where she is right now,” Emma said. “I’ll send one of my men to track her. If he finds her, I’ll approach her then.”

“And I’m guessing Walsh won’t know where you’re going?” Snow asked.

“We have time to work on my excuse,” Emma said. “For now, our focus is just acting the same as always.”

Snow cupped her cheek. “ _ Your _ focus should be resting if you’re planning on gallivanting off on a quest soon.”

Emma gave her mother a dry look. “If anyone should be resting, it’s you, Mom. You’re killing yourself with this stuff.”

Snow smoothed her skirts. “I’m just doing what needs to be done. Aurora’s family expects us to be good hosts.”

“You should leave some stuff for Dad to take care of. He’s such a showboat, if you don’t he’ll be impossible.”

“He’d be impossible either way,” Regina said. At a look from Snow she muttered, “You know he would be...diva…”

“Alright,” Snow said. “Emma’s right, it’s late. We should all go to bed.”

“I decide my own bedtime, thank you,” Regina grumbled, but she allowed Emma and Snow to hug her goodnight.

Later, Emma squinted up at her bed canopy through the dark, wide awake.

She wasn’t running. She didn’t think so. There was barely anything to run  _ from _ , besides. Just a man who may be kind and safe, or who may be lying through his teeth. Or a man who was kind and safe but beholden to a witch that was lying through her teeth.

It was sort of nice knowing the possibly disastrous outcomes of a relationship before she entered into it, for a change. Technically, she also knew the possibly disastrous outcome if she  _ didn’t _ enter into a relationship with Walsh. Something else to consider while she...considered him.

Not that her parents would ever expect her to marry anyone untrustworthy.

Emma sighed. A piece of hair that had fallen into her face during a particularly frustrated toss or turn fluttered. Emma blew out a few more times to watch it rise and fall.

Walsh wasn’t exactly the type of person she’d imagined herself marrying, either. But to be fair, Emma hadn’t given a thought to marriage in years, if ever. She thought of Henry, not much younger now than she’d been when she had him. What sort of romantic dreams had she had at his age? They’d been full of adventure, she remembered that much, just like her parents’ story. She remembered loving the idea of forbidden love, too. Ugh.

She’d had plenty of action and high drama with her romance when she was young. After the war, she’d preferred to stick to adventures with her family, with her son, or, occasionally, alone. And they’d been good. If she was honest with herself, though, she did catch herself...wanting... _ something _ every now and then. When she caught her father looking at her mother a certain way. When she listened to Leroy talk about his wife.

But that was them. That sort of love wasn’t her.

What she’d told Regina was true. If Walsh was genuine in his interest, marrying him could be good for her. He might not be some grand, true love, but he could be a partner.

The thought didn’t comfort her as much as she wanted it to. And the sleep she finally fell into was fitful.

A week later, she listened with disbelief as Lance debriefed her on his search for the Dark One’s ex-servant.

“She’s a pirate?” Emma asked.

“Doing a pretty good imitation of it,” the knight confirmed. “She’s been spotted at enough ship raids, anyway.”

“Regina’s description of her didn’t really scream piracy,” Emma said.

“Well, I guess she makes it work,” Lance said, wryly. “And lucky for us we know her captain.”

“We do?”

“Remember Captain Hook?”

A few vivid images appeared in her mind’s eye immediately. A flash of silver curving from a black sleeve. A bitter grin. Entertaining insolence.

“He was that drunk asshole that challenged you to a duel on our way back from Aurora’s kingdom a few years ago, remember? It took me a while…”

Emma blinked. She didn’t have the same problem, apparently. “She’s on his crew?”

“Yeah,” Lance said. “Guess she’s got a thing for dangerous men.”

At that, Emma grinned. “Oh I don’t know. After years of being the Dark One’s slave? I bet she’s enjoying being the dangerous one herself...”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’ve decided to embrace the modern dialogue. As the professor from my fairy tale lit class would say, this takes place in no particular place or time, it takes place “once upon a time” (eh? eh? just go with it, man).
> 
> All of my knight-knowledge (knightledge?) comes from A Knight’s Tale.
> 
> Comments clear my skin, water my crops, batter my chicken fingers.
> 
> Please be my friend on tumblr: [youre-not-a-cat-youre-a-rat](https://youre-not-a-cat-youre-a-rat.tumblr.com)


	3. Plan All Your Moves in Advance

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title from [“You’re Dead”](https://open.spotify.com/track/72T5smavl9ONfOwI0gHf1A) by Norma Tanega.

The seas were calm that morning. A ship cut through the reflection of the pink, dawn skies on the water. The man at the wheel steered lazily, lulled by the sounds of the ship creaking, loaded down as it was with Midas’s gold. He was on an easy trading mission, with an agreeable crew and captain, and the sailing, thus far, appeared to be smooth.

A high whistle sounded and the pilot glanced up to find he’d been joined by one of the deckhands. A few locks of fair hair had escaped the boy’s hat and fell over his face as he hefted a bucket and a rag over to a stain on the deck. Getting an early start on his duties, it seemed. He whistled something jaunty as he began to scrub.

The pilot looked away again, the boy’s song helping him drift back into a reverie. Eventually the whistle gave way to humming which turned into lyrics.

“ _...a rovin’ over the sea _

_ Give me a career as a buccaneer, _

_ It’s the life of a pirate for me! _ ”

Lost as he was, the words didn’t register with the pilot. In fact, he was so aggressive in his wool-gathering, he didn’t notice the approaching vessel until it was close enough to make out the color of its flag without a spyglass.

The flag was black.

The pilot jumped, jolted harshly back to his surroundings. Before he could move to shout an alarm, something sharp jabbed him in the lower back. He glanced around to see the deckhand poking him with a dagger, a fae little smile on his face.

“Easy, now,” the boy’s voice was pitched higher than usual, and something clicked in the pilot’s mind.

“You’re a woman!” he exclaimed.

The deckhand snorted and the dagger jabbed him a little harder. He yelped.

“You’re terrible on the uptick, Doyle, but I guess that’s what makes you so useful.”

There was a creak as the door to the cabins opened. The captain and his wife, blissfully oblivious, strode onto the deck. Their velvet cloaks swung around their ankles. The captain’s wife, dripping jewels, primped her hair.

The captain sent a nod across the deck in Doyle’s direction. Then he glanced out at the water.

The deckhand cursed. Doyle heard a click, and when his captain turned back around, aghast at the sight of their approaching doom, the girl raised a pistol at him and fired.

The shot went wide, and the captain bolted back to the doors to the cabins. Tearing them open, he shouted for men.

But it was too late, the ship was much too close. The boarding planks crashed down just as the rest of the crew, and the few soldiers Midas had sent with them, spilled out onto the deck. Doyle saw the captain’s wife running towards them, trying to escape the fracas.

There was a solid thunk as the butt of the deckhand’s pistol connected with Doyle’s skull. He collapsed and all hell broke loose. 

...

Killian swiped a gold chain from the wrist of a frozen, gaping lady by the wheel as he passed her. On the woman’s other side, Mulan plucked up the same hand to plant a quick kiss on her knuckles. The warrior’s eyes sparkled as the woman sputtered.

Killian grinned, filing the moment away to tease her about later. It was too rare that Mulan took the opportunity to bloody enjoy herself. Sometimes he wondered if piracy was truly her calling.

His thoughts were interrupted by two swordsman leaping up onto the quarterdeck in front of them. Almost as soon as their feet touched the boards, the warrior dispatched the men with ruthless efficiency, sending them toppling backward over the railing to the main deck.

Ah, but then she proved him oh so wrong. Glorious was his crew woman. Crew wo _ men _ , Killian amended, as he watched Tink knock one of the ship’s deckhands unconscious with the hilt of her blade.

Killian drew his own weapon and reached up to lock his hook onto a fortuitously placed pulley. He turned back to Mulan and gestured to the melee on the main deck. “Shall we?” he asked.

She grabbed a rope, and they lept over the railing to join the fray.

The fight was over quickly. Killian’s crew was small, but they were not to be underestimated. And thanks to Tink they’d had the advantage of knowing that Midas’s guards were understaffed. 

They tied the captain and his wife along with the the few remaining conscious crew men to the mast.

One of them, with a sizeable bruise swelling on his head, was objecting their mercy.

“I’ve heard of you Hook,” the man was spitting as Will dragged him over to the mast. “Never leaves a man alive, they  _ used to _ say.”

“And you’re disappointed?” Killian drawled, bored. Really, the man was not worth a verbal sparring match. They had their gold, Killian was anxious to get it back to the  _ Roger _ . “Would you prefer we killed you?”

“Like you have the balls to do it yourself,” the lug said, glaring in Tink’s direction. “Couldn’t even face us without sending a spy first, the sneaky cunt.”

Will promptly dropped the man on his swelling face. He shouted in pain.

Killian let out a long suffering sigh to cover the anger that flared. “Well, Tink. It seems as if your former crewmate isn’t ready to part with you.”

She hummed, expression deceptively light. “Seems so.”

“Shall we bring him along for the festivities?”

She grinned evilly. “I’m sure we could show him a good time.”

They gagged the bastard before they brought him onto the  _ Roger _ , dumping him onto the deck, grunting and whining.

“Who’s this?” Belle asked striding out to meet them. She was carrying the black scrap of fur she’d found a few weeks ago when they were at port. She’d named it Charybdis, which Killian had objected to since the original, mythical monster was female, while Belle’s new cat was male.

But then Killian had much to object to when it came to the creature. Too many a night, when returning from answering the call of nature, he had found the pest curled up half on his pillow, half on the bed. Right where Killian’s neck rested, usually.

Belle had said she thought Charybdis (the cat) didn’t seem the type to fuss about which names were appropriate for which genders. And, she’d argued, neither did the monster for that matter.

“He called Tink a word you wouldn’t care for,” Killian explained.

Belle frowned. “And we’re going to do what with him?”

“Well that’s up to Tink isn’t it? Whatever it is, he’ll live,” he assured her, knowing that was what concerned her.

“Killian -”

“He’s not worth your worry, love, and you know it,” Killian said steering her away from the prone man that Mulan was nudging with her boot.

She let herself be pushed toward the wheel and sighed. “You’re probably right.”

“Now why don’t you let me hold the mutt for you while you take us somewhere loud with a terrible reputation.”

Belle laughed. “To match us?”

Killian beamed at her fondly. “Exactly.”

At the tavern, they hung Tink’s victim from the wrists against the wall, where he served as a disposal for warm ale. Belle wouldn’t allow him to be used as a dartboard, much to the crowd’s disappointment.

Nonetheless, they were popular patrons. Tinkerbell was regaling a few burly looking gents with the tale of the raid, using Doyle as a dummy whenever she had to demonstrate an attack. Will stuck close to Belle. She’d brought Charybdis and the cat had drawn a gaggle of wenches that Will was attempting to charm in between their cooing. Smee was going to give them hell for saddling him with guarding the ship.

Killian searched for Mulan and frowned when he saw the warrior nursing a tankard at a solitary table.

“Don’t think I didn’t see that little maneuver on Midas’s ship,” he said when he’d joined her.

Her brows knit over the rim of her tankard, and when she lowered it she was frowning under her thick mustache of foam. “What maneuver?”

“The one that made the captain’s wife blush.”

Mulan’s own cheeks turned pink as she wiped away the foam. “I…”

“No, no,” Killian cut her off. “None of that. It’s not a crime to have fun.”

Her lips twitched. “It is if you’re having it while stealing from a king.”

Killian grinned. “Possibly. But then, if you’ve already committed one crime what’s one more?”

She snorted. “I don’t think that’s how it works.”

“I’ll tell you how it works: It’s fine to enjoy the crime but you have to enjoy the celebration even more.” His eyes widened, gravely. “There’s less work involved in it, you see.” He nudged her with his flask before knocking it back.

“I’m celebrating,” she insisted, lifting her tankard. “We ‘celebrate’ like this all the time.”

Killian swallowed the rum and exhaled on the burn. “It’s not the same without Scarlet. He really brings the gloom to our little pity parties.” He shook his head. “And that sort of celebrating isn’t appropriate for this particular  _ fête _ .”

Mulan raised her eyebrows. “We are spending stolen gold. And you want me to worry about what’s appropriate?”

“Don’t start questioning my orders now, lass.”

“Your orders?”

“Aye. I’m your captain and I order you to enjoy yourself.”

“Killian -”

Killian caught the hand of a passing beauty. “Excuse me, love. Would you favor my friend for a dance?”

Mulan glared at him.

The girl seemed to read her pretty quickly. She dispensed with any heavy suggestion and only caught up Mulan’s gloved hand in her own. Grinning cheekily, she said “Why not?”

The warrior turned a shade of deep tomato red. But she followed the girl into the crowd with no more objections.

Killian sat back, satisfied with himself, and observed his little crew. Aye, they were small, but flush from the success of the day, Killian was proud of them.

Even if the day hadn’t been successful, he would have been proud.

Later, when the revelry had died down, and his crew had almost all disappeared into the rooms above the tavern, Killian sat, contemplating his empty flask.

“Mulan went to bed alone.”

Killian looked up to find Belle sliding onto the bench next to him. Her cat blinked at him lazily over her arm.

Killian sighed. “Well that’s her business, isn’t it?”

Belle nodded, but she searched his gaze, her expression consoling and questioning all at once.

Killian grimaced. Too often he was on the receiving end of Belle’s studious looks. What was so annoying about them was how successful they were at digging up his thoughts.

“I don’t think it’s wrong that you’re encouraging her,” she said. “Even if it’s her decision to move on when she’s ready.”

He hadn’t asked for her approval, but Killian had found long ago that he liked having it.

She set Charybdis on the table, letting the beast explore. Carefully, she asked “Don’t you think it’s time you started moving on yourself?”

He frowned. “Move on?”

Belle gave him a pointed look.

Blast, but the girl knew too much about him. “It’s been over a hundred years, most would say that’s plenty of time to heal old wounds.”

“Would  _ you _ say you’ve healed?”

Killian gave her a long suffering look. “Has anyone ever told you you’re a pest, lass?”

She smiled and bumped her shoulder against his. “Only you. Every day for three years.”

Charybdis had started to sniff at Killian’s hook. After a moment he opened his mouth to gnaw on the metal. “Oy,” Killian muttered, lifting the appendage to shoo the cat away. It only twisted an ear and fixed him with an irritated look.

Belle interrupted the glaring match between them by clearing her throat.

Killian sighed and turned his thoughts to her question. It had quickly become clear during the early days of their friendship that this sort of conversation was Belle’s specialty. Likewise, it became obvious that she was the type to face matters of the heart head on. While this could often be irritating, Killian was sharp enough to recognize that it also made her a bloody brave lass. It had made it worth losing quite a few men due to her joining his crew. And even more once he’d started honoring requests like the one she made that they limit their killings during raids. Smee was the only man of Killian’s old Neverland crew to still be sailing with him, and that was mostly because the girl had him thoroughly wrapped around her finger.

“I don’t share our friend’s habit of going to bed alone,” Killian reminded her, as if he had to.

“Lately you have,” she pointed out.

Of course she would have noticed that. “Not because I’ve been feeling heartbroken, I assure you.”

“No?”

Killian shook his head, completely honest. If anything he’d been feeling rather at peace about Milah these days. He still thought of her, still loved her, but his memories no longer caused him to ache the way they used to. He’d found himself talking about her with more ease (and less liquid courage) during the late nightcaps he shared with Mulan and Will - much to the latter’s annoyance. He hadn’t felt the hot bite of rage at the thought of her death in a long time. Somewhere along the way he’d accepted that seeking his vengeance wouldn’t bring her back, wouldn’t put her to rest.

“We’re on a lucky streak,” he said. “Haven’t had a bad raid in a few months. I suppose that could be keeping me satisfied in other departments.”

She was incredulous. “ _ That’s _ your explanation?”

Killian grinned but shrugged, as stumped as she. “It’s just...I haven’t seen anything - any _ one _ who’s caught my interest, lately.”

“What  _ are _ you interested in? What are you looking for?”

Killian had a sudden flash of memory. Yellow hair, disparaging green eyes, wit as sharp and quick as her blade. He shook it off, amused with himself. “I don’t know,” he said, truthfully. “I just feel as if...there’s something coming. I don’t know what, but it hasn’t found me yet.” He scoffed as he heard his own words. “Gods, I sound ridiculous.”

“No,” she said, squeezing his arm above his hook. “You sense a new adventure. That’s not ridiculous.”

Killian disagreed, but he was glad the explanation satisfied her.

She retired not long after, gathering up her cat and planting a kiss on Killian’s forehead, leaving him alone to stew.

…

Killian woke to his first mate shouting in his face.

“Gods, Smee,” he groaned. “What did you have for breakfast, your breath is going to be the death of me.”

“Captain,  _ please _ . Get _ up. The guard is looking for you. _ ”

With great effort, Killian peeled himself off of the bench where he’d spent the night. He squinted at the little man. “What guard?”

“The king’s guard!  _ Knights! _ ”

That got Killian’s attention. “Bloody hell.”

He shot up from the bench, ignoring his protesting limbs.

“They came to the ship asking for you, horses and everything,” Smee told Killian while the captain yanked on his coat and checked for all his effects. “Told ‘em I didn’t know where you were or when you’d be back.”

“Good man,” Killian said. “But I doubt it will deter them for long.” He jerked his hook in the direction of the stairs that led to the little inn over the bar. “Rouse the crew, I’ll check what’s in the stables. We’ll ride back to the Roger.”

“Aye, Captain,” Smee said, rushing to obey.

Killian tore out of the pub and around the building to the stables. “Whose bloody kingdom are we in anyway?” he muttered as he yanked the doors open.

“Ours,” sneered the armored man on the other side.

Killian spun on his heel but was yanked back by both arms and tackled swiftly the ground.

He struggled but the knight - whose gleeful little face looked familiar - managed to pin him on his stomach by planting his metal plated arse on Killian’s back. There was a click as the shackles closed over his wrists. Somewhere, the man from Midas’s ship was roaring with laughter. They’d trussed him up in the stables to spend the night in the hay. Belle had brought him a blanket but refused him a pillow, with a haughty sniff.

With difficulty, Killian lifted his face out of the dirt to snarl, “What grounds have ye to acost me, mate?”

“On the grounds that I’ve been ordered to,” The little knight snarled back. “We’re looking for a girl, goes by Belle, maybe you’ve seen her?”

Killian’s heart seized.  _ Fuck _ . His thoughts raced. What could they want with Belle? Who could have sent them? Surely the Dark One wouldn’t be able to convince king’s knights to do his bidding?

“Whose orders?” He asked, forcing himself to remain calm, to not betray the panic closing around his throat.

He was denied his answer when the door to the stables swung open again to reveal a bloody vision. Armor polished to a blinding silver and gold, scarlet cloak snapping behind her, hair catching the blasted sun in golden waves.

As if he’d conjured her from his errant thought the night before, in strode the Swan.

Killian swallowed. Then he broke into a bright smile. “And how have you been, love?”

She paused to take him in, caked with dirt, struggling to breathe as he was pressed into the ground by her man’s noble bum.

“I’ve been better,” she said, just as dry as he remembered. “You?”

“Aye.” Killian matched her tone. “‘Better’ about covers it, Highness.” He shifted, but the knight on top of him gave him no quarter.

“Alright, Leroy,” the princess told the knight. “I think it’s safe to let him go.”

The knight complied, but not without digging his knee into Killian’s back as he stood. The pirate grunted and thought he heard the princess mutter “ _ Come on, Leroy… _ ”

“Not even close to what you deserve, you bastard,” Midas’s man called as Killian struggled to a sitting position.

The Swan looked around and found the source of the outburst. “You must be Doyle. Your captain’s looking for you.” She turned back to Killian, “And for his gold.”

He tilted his head to look at her sideways. “And I suppose  _ you’ll _ be taking it to him.”

“Yes, but don’t be too disappointed. I’ve got a business proposition for you, Captain.”

Killian blinked at that, not sure he’d heard her correctly.

Before he could respond, Doyle began whining again. “He humiliated me!”

“He insulted one of my crew,” Killian bit off.

“And you didn’t challenge him?” the princess asked.

“I save duels for people I like, love.” Killian winked at her. “And we would have let him go. With his own ship, no less.”

She arched an eyebrow. “You’d have given him a ship?”

“Aye,” Killian replied, solemnly.

“And how big would this ship be?”

“Well, he’s a modest man,” Killian said gesturing - as best he could with his arms behind his back - to beer-soaked, mud-caked, hay-poked Doyle. “His pride would only allow us to gift him with something very small, of course.”

“Of course,” she echoed, expression carefully blank. She turned and nodded wordlessly to Leroy who sprung into action, yanking Doyle out of the hay and frog-marching him out of the stables. Killian was pleased to see the knight was no more gentle with the curr.

Killian rose to his feet, ungracefully perhaps, but fixing the princess with his most charming smile nonetheless. “Now what’s this about a proposition?” He allowed his smile to turn wicked. “You’ve come to the right man. I never get tired of being propositioned.”

The look she gave him was quelling as she turned away, and yet Killian was struck by the sensation that he’d been ordered to follow her. Marvelling, he obeyed her unspoken command, trailing after her out of the stables and back to the pub, where another of her men held the door open for them. She turned back to Killian as they entered, all business.

“We’re looking for the sorcerer Rumplestiltskin, also called the Dark One. From what we understand you have quite a history with him and we’re ready to offer you and your crew a substantial reward for helping us find him.”

Killian stared at her. He was so stunned by the first half of her statement, he couldn’t even enjoy the phrase “substantial reward.” “What’ll you be wanting with that crocodile?” he asked, darkly.

“King’s business,” she replied coolly.

“Aye, I’ll bet it is,” Killian said. He drew in a deep breath and refocused. “I thought your man mentioned you were after some chit - what was the name again?” Killian said vaguely.

The princess didn’t respond right away. The massive knight who had held the door open for them was handing her a key.

Then she turned back to Killian and laid her hand on his shoulder. Something sparked through him at the contact, a bolt of energy slicing through his coat to his skin. Killian stared at her hand, her fingers long and graceful and strong.

She had paused in her movement, and he wondered if she’d felt the spark too. But then she spoke, brisk and professional, as she turned him around to unlock the shackles. “I’m sorry about Leroy. We weren’t sure how open you’ll be to our offer, and he felt it was easier to make you a captive audience.”

There was a click as the cuffs opened and her touch disappeared. Killian squashed the forlorn feeling that rose at the loss.

“I haven’t quite said I’m open to anything yet, love,” he said, turning back to look her in the eye. “And you didn’t answer my question.”

Emma studied him. He was as pretty as she remembered. Even rumpled with a faceful of dirt. Although he hadn’t exactly been at his best during their first meeting either. His gaze was sharper, probably due to being sober. But there was something else in the warey way he watched her, the flippant tone he was using. He was a man with something to lose.

_ Good _ , Emma thought. Then she frowned.  _ For me. For our quest. _

She used the thought to refocus on the conversation. “We know Belle French is sailing with you, Hook. And we know she might be one of the last people to see the Dark One in this realm.”

The pirate’s expression did not change except for a slight flare of his nostrils. “I fear you’re wasting your time, love. I’ve been hunting the Dark One for years and I can tell you first hand it’s an impossible task.”

“Killian.”

They both turned as a young woman stepped into the bar. She was short, dark-haired, pretty. Emma glanced between her and the pirate - who did not look happy to have her join the conversation. “Go find Smee, lass,” he said, voice low and urgent. “I’ll handle this.”

The girl’s mouth flattened stubbornly in response. “If they’re taking our gold anyway, don’t you think we should hear them out?”

_ Accent _ , Emma noted.  _ Got you _ .

Emma watched Hook scowl - very handsomely - before switching on a smile to address her. “Would you excuse us for a moment? 

“Of course,” Emma said.

Neither she nor Lance moved.

Hook sighed and walked away to draw the girl out of their hearing range.

“I don’t know why I thought he’d be easier to deal with,” Lance said, his voice pitched so the pirates wouldn’t hear them.

“He might have been before Leroy sat on him back there,” Emma said.

“Still,” Lance said, unsurprised by Leroy’s techniques, “I got the sense he liked you the last time we saw him.”

“ _ Liked _ me?” Emma repeated.

Lance dipped his head.

Emma rolled her eyes. “I think he’s just a flirt with everyone.” She winced, her own choice of words reminding her of a conversation she’d had with Regina before they’d left.

The sorceress had sought Emma out in the castle stables, knowing that Emma liked to saddle her own horse for long journeys. Her serious expression had Emma bracing herself for an awkward heart to heart. She hadn’t been disappointed.

“You’re my favorite student,” she’d started

“I’m the only person you’ve ever taught, Regina,” Emma pointed out.

“And I love you, but we have to talk about Walsh.”

Emma gestured to the packs she was attaching to her horse. “I’m dealing with Walsh.”

“Are you?” Regina asked. “Don’t think I haven’t noticed the disgusting polite flirting between you two -”

“It's called courtship,” Emma said. “You don’t flirt when you’re royalty.”

Regina rolled her eyes. “You are  _ absolutely _ a flirt.”

Emma stilled, absorbing the hit.

Regina’s eyes widened. “Honey, that was a joke.”

“It wasn't funny.” And it wasn’t that true anymore.

“I’m sorry,” Regina said, genuinely contrite. “You know, people may call it the War of Broken Hearts but that doesn't mean you have to brood forever.”

“I don’t brood,” Emma said, sulkily.

Regina ignored her. “It’s been more than six years. Were you this bad after Henry’s father?”

Emma didn’t pretend not know what she meant. “That was different. I had raising Henry to distract me. And I had my parents, I wasn't…” she forced herself to finish the thought, “I wasn’t on a battlefield with thousands falling dead around me because of a stupid mistake that  _ I _ made.”

Regina’s mouth flattened into a grim line. “You have to stop putting the blame for a whole damn war on yourself.”

_ Not that easy _ . Emma didn’t say the words out loud.

“And I like to think you weren’t that solitary,” Regina went on, off-hand. “You had me.”

Emma smiled at her over the horse. “I did. And I’ll miss you. And our charming talks.”

She smiled at the joke, but it was gentle, sympathetic. Emma was disturbed to realize it reminded her of her mother. “I get it,” Regina said. “I do, that it still hurts.”

She did get it, Emma knew. Regina had been through plenty of heartbreak and survived. Loved again, even.

The sorceress’s smile turned wicked. “I mean, if the girl was anything like her mother -

Emma slapped her hands over her ears. “Ahhhh la la la laa. Let's go back to the castle, I never need to hear this -”

“All I wanted to say is that, no matter what you discover on this little jaunt, the stale piece of bread staying in the east wing isn’t going to make you happy.”

“Thank you for your input,”

Regina raised an eyebrow at her. “You’ll always get it, whether you like it or not.”

“I know,” Emma said, and she marveled at the affection she heard in the statement, even with the sorceress’s dry tone.

“ _ Emma _ .”

Emma started, jolted from her reverie by a sharp whisper from Lance. She must have really been out of it, he usually didn’t use her first name in mixed company. She looked up to see Hook and his companion sauntering back to them.

“Well, Sir Swan,” the pirate said, wearing a beaten expression. “Why don’t you gather your men, I’ll gather mine, and we hear this proposal of yours.”

Emma allowed herself a breath to enjoy the success. Then she nodded at Lance to stand guard and strode out of the tavern to find Leroy and Archie.

…

It was afternoon when they all met again, stuffed into a corner of the same tavern, standing or sitting around a musty old table. The pirates were nursing a round Emma had bought for them. All but Belle were eyeing the knights with apprehension.

Emma glanced behind her at the room. She’d allowed Hook the seat with the view of the door, hoping to win him over by making him comfortable. She was nervous with her back to the crowd. She could see her armor was getting more stares than she would have liked, but there was a steady buzz from the early bird patrons that she hoped would cover their conversation. She’d had her men check the room for mirrors.

“So,” said the pirate with the closely sheared head, accent even thicker than his captain’s. Hook had introduced him as Scarlet. “You want us to take you to some old, empty castle of Belle’s to look for some sorcerer who might not even be in this realm. And you don’t plan on telling us why.”

“What’s it matter why as long as you’re getting your gold?” Leroy growled.

“It matters ‘cause I’m not about to get myself killed on a bloody king’s errand without a good reason,” Scarlet sneered.

“You won’t  _ die _ -” Leroy began, disparagingly, but Emma raised a hand, and he grumbled but fell silent again.

“We’ll be with you,” she said. “As long as we work together, nothing will happen to you or your crew.”

Hook grinned acidly. “That’s the problem, love. You’re knights. We’re pirates. Your kind’s known to lock ours in irons. That makes being in your company less of a comfort than you seem to think.”

“We know we’re asking you to take a leap of faith,” said Archie. “But the reward  _ will _ outweigh the risks if you just trust us.”

“Give us a reason to,” said the dark-haired woman standing behind Hook.

Emma came to a decision, even as she felt the ripple of unease among her men.

“There’s a threat to our kingdom. To our realm. The Dark One might have information that could be useful.”

“Might have?” Hook repeated.

“You’ve met him?” Emma asked.

“Aye,” he growled.

“Then you know he’s usually got information.”

“Why can’t you just use a locating spell, find him yourself?” It was the little blonde one that spoke.

Emma looked at her, surprised. “You’re familiar with locating spells?”

“She’s an ex-fairy,” Hook said, off-handedly.

For the first time since their meeting had started, Leroy perked up. “Huh. My wife’s ex-fairy. I’m ex-dwarf.”

The fairy pirate broke into a smile of surprised familiarity. “We’re all ‘exes’ here,” she said and gestured to the stern looking woman next to her. “Ex-soldier,” she named her.

Scarlet raised a hand. “Ex-merry man.”

“Ex-cricket.”

Everyone stared at Archie.

“It’s a long story.”

Trying to wrap up the tangent, Emma waved a hand at Lance. “And Lance is ex Round Table -”

“Really?” said Hook. “Camelot?”

Lance grunted.

“Guessing you left cause of Arthur,” said Scarlet.

Lance paused before nodding. There was a murmur from the pirates.

“We had a run in with him once,” Hook explained. “He was a right prick. Which is ironic because -” he stopped and there was a pregnant pause that made Emma’s eyes widen. She caught the ex warrior’s - Mulan, was it? - equally wide-eyed gaze. The woman seemed to be trying not to laugh.

Hook cleared his throat. “Anyhow, Tinkerbell brings up a good point.”

“We’ve tried locating spells,” Lance said. “They’ve been inconclusive.”

There was a murmur among the pirates.

“He could be in another realm,” Scarlet said. “He could be dead.”

“Not necessarily,” Belle said quietly. “I’m sure Rumple could find a way to evade a locating spell if he wanted.”

Killian felt his jaw tighten as he listened to her. If he’d heard this offer three years ago, he’d be leaping in head first. Now he could only remember the last time he’d been sailing under a monarch’s orders. The errand reeked of foolishness. It was only at Belle’s urging they were even entertaining it.

And possibly, he could admit, his own curiosity when it came to the armor clad princess staring them all down. She was grim and unreadable, had been almost since their reacquaintance that morning. A far cry from the amused flirtation she’d displayed three years ago.

_ Not true _ , he thought. She’d been heavy with a burden even then. He’d been too weighed down with his own to pay it enough attention. Maybe that’s what was making him soft with her.

He bristled at the realization, and sniped “You’re not winning your case, Sir Swan.”

She absorbed this silently, of course. Nothing wavered in her eyes. They were as solid and as bright as emeralds.

Finally she spoke. “The night we met -”

“Now that’s a bit hazy.”

“- I could have killed you, if I didn’t have a sense of humor, but I didn’t. I could say you owe me your life.”

Killian stared at her, wanting to bark with laughter. He did. More than she knew.

“I won’t,” she continued. “But I will say that has to count for some trust.”

Killian held her gaze. “That it does, Sir Swan” he acknowledged, softly.

She didn’t react to the moniker. She just waited, as steady as granite.

Killian lifted a finger, aimed it at her nose. “I’ll take  _ you _ .”

He sensed her men shifting out of the corner of his eye, but he never tore his gaze from hers. “Not your men,” he said. “Not your horses. You want me to sail for you, princess? Aye, I’ll give you safe passage, but only you.”

“You don’t trust us to sail with you but you expect us to trust you with her?” the little knight growled.

“She’s a bloody sorceress,” Killian said. “Isn’t she the one protecting  _ you _ , here?”

“Surely we can come to some sort of compromise,” the ginger one said.

“That  _ is _ my compromise,” Killian growled. Then he stood, Smee and Belle rising with him.

He glanced at the Swan. She still watched him, her expression unreadable.

“We raise anchor tomorrow at dawn,” he told her. “I’ll expect your answer by then.”

As they all trooped away, Killian called over his shoulder, “And I want your bloody guards off my ship tonight!”

…

“We can threaten to throw them in the castle dungeon.”

It was later. Late. They were at the same table nursing their own drinks.

“He knows that.” She said. “He’s saying no because he thinks anywhere is safer than on a ship with us searching for the Dark One.”

“Then we imprison his crew,” Leroy suggested.

“At the castle where Walsh is staying? Where Zelena could be spying on us?”

“So what the hell do we do then?”

“You want to go with them,” Lance guessed.

Emma didn’t answer. Leroy balked anyway.

“Are you crazy?” he hissed. “You trust them?”

“I trust  _ her _ ,” Emma said. “Belle. And I trust that he’ll honor his debt to me.” And she thought she understood how he worked, kind of. Had thought so since that night three years ago.

“He’s a pirate. He doesn’t know the first thing about honor.”

She sighed “The way he’s protecting his crew? He knows all about honor, Leroy.”

Lance was staring at her, grim. “I don’t like it.”

“Emma,” Archie said, “we can find other ways of getting the information we need. We can even find another way to track down the Dark One.”

“When?” Emma said. “Zelena could touch down from a cyclone on the palace steps tomorrow.”

“You’re actually considering - ?!” Leroy cut his roar off, jumping up to pace, mute with frustration.

“Emma please,” Archie said. “This is what we’re here for. When you and your parents recruited us before the war, you gave us a whole list of duties and vows. But we all knew: we are here to be your support.”

Emma stared at his earnest face. He was the worst of her fighters and yet she always found herself wanting his approval. “You think I’ll do something stupid?” she asked.

“I think this is a reckless decision,” he said, “and you can’t afford to be reckless.”

She looked at Lance.

“Sleep on it,” he said.

She stared at him, resisting, but finally dipped her head in agreement. They retired to their rooms.

But Emma couldn’t sleep.

She sighed and sat up on the straw mattress. She should give up on sleep altogether, it wasn’t coming to her easy these days.

She was thinking too much. She knew what she wanted to do and no amount of contemplation was going to change her mind.

She went to her belt, hanging where it was on the valet, and fished in one of the pouches for the velvet sleeve that held her little circular mirror.

She sat back on the bed and held the mirror in front of her. Eyes closed, mind blank, she felt, reaching out over the dirt roads, over the rivers and streams, over the miles of forest to the castle. To her son.

The mirror grew hot in her hands and she opened her eyes to see the familiar smooth stone of the castle ceiling.

“ _ Henry _ ,” she called, as loud as she dared. The inn walls weren’t thick enough.

There was a grunt and the rustling of sheets.

“ _ Henry _ ,” she hissed again.

There was a sharp indrawn breath and more rustling. The mirror grew dark as something covered it. Then she was staring at her boy’s face, scrunched and squinting. “Mom?”

She smiled. “Hey kid.”

“Wusshappening?” he slurred, rubbing his eyes. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing’s wrong. I’m fine.”

“It’s the middle of the night, Mom.” The image shook and he moved out of frame as he adjusted his position. He looked more awake when he came back in view. “What’s wrong?” he asked again.

“Nothing’s  _ wrong _ ,” she repeated. “I’m just about to do something you might not like.”

…

It was foggy the next morning. Emma stuck close to the docks as she rode.

It was not long before Hook’s ship rose up in front of her, the mast lancing through the mist, the black flag grinning down at her.

It was barely dawn but the ship was awake. Emma could make out the dark shapes of its crew bustling around the deck.

She studied them while she dismounted, searching for the captain.

She spotted him finally, standing on one of the wooden beams that stretched the sail, whatever it was called, barking orders. She saw the flash of silver as he caught his hook on a rope and stepped off of the beam. He swung and landed gracefully on the deck, coat flaring dramatically behind him,  shirt still half open despite the chill.

_ This _ was Captain Hook. In his element, in all his swashbuckling glory. Emma acknowledged that he was pretty damn impressive.

As if sensing her gaze. He looked up, kohl rimmed eyes flashing when he spotted her.

“What did I say about horses?” he called as he strode to meet her on the loading plank.

“I couldn’t carry the second suit of armor on my own,” she explained, turning to liberate the horse from the weight in question.

“ _ Second? _ Armor’s no good to you on a ship, love.”

“When we’re on land, you’ll be thanking me for it,” she couldn’t resist saying.

“Will I?” he drawled, delighted by her teasing tone. Emma cursed herself, inwardly.

“Still,” Hook went on, “the horse isn’t coming.”

“I never meant her to,” Emma said. “I just need one of your crew to get her back to the tavern before my men wake up.”

He turned and made eye contact with the ex-fairy. “Think that’s you lass.”

She nodded and stepped forward to take the reins from Emma.

Hook stepped closer as they watched the horse disappear into the fog.

“I take it your men don’t know you’re here?” he murmured.

She looked at him, not answering his question or reacting to his proximity.

“Ever been on a ship before, Highness?” he asked.

“Yes,” she said.

His eyes travelled over her face. “But have you sailed one?”

“No.”

He nodded as he digested this. She blinked when she saw him wet his bottom lip with his tongue.

“Well then,” he said, tone turning brisk. “We’ll put a cot in the rooms next to mine. You’ll be bunking with Belle. As long as you’re here, you’re one of the crew. There’s too much work for you not to share some of it.”

“Good.”

A smile ghosted over his lips. “And you can call me Killian. When you’re not addressing me as Captain. I trust that royal upbringing will help you discern when to use which.”

“Then I guess you can call me Emma,” Emma said.

Something in his eyes sparked. “Emma,” he repeated, seeming to savour the name in a way that made her feel strange.

He held out his arm and she stared at it before she clasped it. The leather of his coat was soft under her gloves and his grip was strong but careful.

His eyes bore into hers as they stood there, sealing their bargain.

Then he let go and Emma was hit with the same sensation she felt when she missed a step while going down the stairs.

She hoped her expression was still neutral as he broke into a wicked grin. The most genuine smile he’d given her since she’d found Leroy sitting on him the day before.

“Welcome aboard the Jolly Roger,” he said.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All my pirate knowledge comes from the abbreviated version of Pirates of Penzance I was in when I was 15 (though I'll have you know I played the Pirate Queen).  
> I love all three of you reading this!! You’re the best!  
> I'm on tumblah: [youre-not-a-cat-youre-a-rat](https://youre-not-a-cat-youre-a-rat.tumblr.com)


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